Afraid
by The Queen's Fabler
Summary: "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." - C. S. Lewis. One-shot. Post-DH.


Afraid

By The Queen's Fabler

Seated in the bright sitting room of his flat, George Weasley was working diligently on what seems to be a report. Many who know George would find this an odd occurrence. Back in his school days at Hogwarts, he and his twin brother were never known to do their school work. They having boasted they only gained six O. W. L. S. combined, the sight of George doing any work at all is a curious sight indeed.

"What on earth are you doing?!" Fred exclaimed in aghast when he entered the room. "Put down the quill, or I will have to floo our dear mother! Are you ill? You must be delirious!"

Fred attempted to slap his hand across George's forehead in motion to check for a fever, but George ducked beneath his swiping hand. "George, you git! This is for the shop!"

Fred heaved himself in a armchair across from George and promptly placed his feet on the coffee table, looking towards George in disbelief. "My, my, my, what has your knickers in a twist?"

"Well, you prat, we have to order more supplies. Apparently you've been too busy to remember, so now I've got to do it, don't I?" George gave appraising look towards his brother. They were nearly identical in everyway, except the unfortunate event which had cost George his ear, and gave him a slightly lopsided look.

Fred smirked at him. "Well my dear brother, when one has a chance to escape unneeded work, one must take that chance."

George slumped himself into chair, and brushed off the order form off to the side for the present company. George too kicked up his feet onto the table, and quirked his eyebrow and asked, "Well where you've been? Smooching off of Lee's liquor cabinet again?"

"No, but you must admit that he has fantastic selection for a rainy day, or night, or for rather whenever." George nodded in agreement, he too, had sampled Lee's wide selection, "He is the envy of barkeepers everywhere, but that does not answer my question."

"Well, I was with dear Angela. She was in a right fit, saying that I only went and bugged people and I ruined things. Called me a bludger with two legs."

"I bet you were very insulted." Fred nodded seriously, not noticing or more likely ignoring the sarcastic tone in George's voice.

"You know it!" Fred waved his arms around in much earnest that George ducked underneath the pendulums that were known as arms, "Very deeply so!"

"So were you insulted with the fact that it was true, or the fact that she actually said it?" inquired George in a bemused fashion. He knew for a fact the both of them could have been considered as human bludgers due to the chaos that went with them. Ah, the woes of being a prankster.

"The fact she said it, of course," said Fred while giving him a look that simply implies the meaning 'what were you thinking?' "She nailed me with a bat-boggy hex in the end. Must be the time of month."

George scoffed at the sentence, for both Fred's misfortune at being the end of Angela's wand, and his ideology for her response to his company. "I bet you told her that."

"Eh! You don't have to be so rude about it," replied Fred, thoroughly offended.

"You left me with the work!" shot back George, though it was more in good-natured fashion rather than actual scorn. George idly wondered how longer this would last. This peace of mind…

"So, what was dear Angie doing anyways?" George asked distractedly as he fingered the order forms. George was not looking forward to the work. It was on a ever growing list of things he hates, and no longer wanted to do. Just so many things.

Fred interrupted his thoughts with a simple, yet a very pointed reply, "Getting ready for a date."

George head turned so quickly, he swore he must have gotten whiplash in result of it. He chose to ignore Fred's appraising looks, and replied with a not so smooth, "That's...that's great for her… yeah."

"My question is why not is she getting ready with you? Hmmm?" Fred inquired with a not-so-innocent look. George knew that Fred was up to something then.

"Because she is going out with someone else?" George weakly tossed out there, hoping that Fred would pick up his cue to change the topic. As fate would have it, luck was not on his side today.

"George, you are like absolutely in love with her," Fred pressed on, ignoring George's pleading looks. "Why can't you put on your big boy pants, and ask her out already?"

"Because…"

"Because?"

"Just because, okay!"

"Because what? Because you are a coward? Are you afraid you are going to get hurt?"

"Shut up Fred! Just shut up!" George stood up, flinging the papers off to the side, as he glared at Fred. He dearly wanted to punch Fred in the face in that instant. His fists clenched in anticipation and his jaw was clenched. His own twin brother treading on forbidden ground. He simply did not want to talk about it at all. He wasn't a coward, he wasn't…_Are you afraid…?_

"Why then?" Fred too stood up, and asked seriously for once. "Why?"

George ignored his inquiry, and made his way towards the exit. Fred stepped in front of him, blocking his path. George shot his most deadly glare, "Move it, Fred."

Fred bounced on the balls of his feet, but refused to move as he shook his head. "I said move!"

"Fine, I will leave if you just answer my goddamned question!"

George turned away from his twin, and ran his hands roughly through his hair. It was times like these he hated having a twin. "You really want to know Fred?"

Fred looked forward to him defiantly, silently urging him to open up, to let lose the words that had be bottled for far to long. George simply snapped.

"It is because I am screwed up, Fred! I am just completely, and absolutely screwed up! Is that you wanted to hear, brother?"

"Why can't you try? Take a chance?" Fred asked urgently. He moved towards George as though he wanted to shake some sense into his twin, but thought better of it. "Why not?"

That was the million galleon question, wasn't it? _Why not? _"She deserves better," said George in a utterly defeated voice, "She deserves better than me, and what I can give… so much better… it doesn't matter what I… it just doesn't matter…"

Fred looked at George with sad eyes, as he rambled on. It was as if the words that George spokecaused him physical pain, as well as mental anguish.

"Why can't you try?" Fred asked in a soft voice that was also filled with such sorrow.

_ Why can't you…?_

"Because everything is so wrong… so wrong…"

"What is wrong Georgie-boy? What are you afraid of?"

George smiled slightly at his childhood nickname from Fred, but he grew silent and still at the context of the question. _What are you afraid of? _His face became haunted and serious as he refused to look at Fred. There were many things that George was a afraid of. The war, losing his friends, family, Fred… even losing himself. Both soul and mind.

As to what is wrong, there is great many things to answer the question with.

A tense silence grew between the two, it grew even more tangible until it was absolutely unbearable. It was then that George finally broke the silence, and spoke quietly, "You know why."

"Not really," Fred replied with a hint of the Cheshire grin that both were known for since their youth, "but do tell."

George looked up with tears in his eyes, and took a deep breath. "I am talking to you, but I know there is no one here. I am alone."

Tears spilled onto George's cheek, and the sight of Fred is gone. A echoes of Fred's ghostly laugh seem to circulate around the room, as the room's only occupant broke down into heavy sobs. The war was over, and he was alone indeed.

_ What is wrong Georgie-boy? What are you afraid of?_

Everything.

"First sign of madness, talking to your own head."  
― J.K. Rowling

**-fin-**

* * *

**A|N: This is a product of many rainy days, and the inspiration of another fanfic (from the ATLAB fandom, actually) in which the character is ****insane. Lovely, ain't ****it? Feel free to review.**

**-Fabler**


End file.
